Dealing
by alanwolfmoon
Summary: House doesn't come in for two days. Cuddy is worried. set post head


The first clue Cuddy gets that something is wrong comes when Foreman calls her at four PM, asking if she gave House the day off or something.

The next clue comes when the same exact thing happens the next day.

The third clue comes when she asks Wilson if he's seen House, and his answer is that he never wants to see House again.

Three clues, and she decides to check up on House.

She drives to his apartment, parks in front. His car and motorcycle are there, which is good, because his vision has been fuzzy ever since he woke up from the coma.

She walks up the steps, opens the outer door, and knocks just below the brass letter B.

There is no answer.

She knocks again and again.

She sighs, and reaches up, feeling for the spare key she knows is there.

She finds it, and slips it into the lock.

The apartment is a mess, books, papers, clothes, food, CD's, records, vicodin bottles, chairs, empty alcohol containers, cups, and half-empty Chinese takeout boxes are strewn across the room, there isn't any floor showing.

She sees a foot poking out from behind the overturned sofa, and slowly edges her way over to it.

She finds House curled loosely on the floor, crying and very obviously drunk.

She gently rolls him onto his back, kneeling on an old medial journal as she leans over him.

"House? Can you hear me?" she asks, gently slapping his tear-stained cheek.

He grunts a little, head lolling to the side.

"House." she says, a little more loudly, "House, look at me."

His eyes slowly travel in a wavering path over to look at her, the completely unfocused blue orbs filled with sadness and pain.

Cuddy sighs, leaning down and giving him a gentle kiss on the forehead.

"It's ok." she says quietly, "come on, let's get you to bed."

He grunts again as she moves him, and she notices something odd about his bad leg.

It's twisted at an odd angle.

Cuddy feels along it, worried that it's broken.

She finds no odd bends or bumps until she gets to the thigh, where she finds a bulge going around the leg, over his scar.

She tries to get him to take his pants off, but he either isn't listening, or isn't complying, so she grabs a pair of scissors and cuts his pants away.

Her shoulders droop and her expression darkens, as she sees what the bulge is.

It's gauze, bloodstained, even through the thick—much too thick, in fact—layers.

She looks at House's face, and sees that he is trying very hard to not look at her.

She gently unwraps the dressing, and finds a long, deep wound in the scar.

"Why?" she asks him, putting pressure on it because it has started bleeding.

He raises his head a little off the book it is resting on, looking at her.

"I was drunk." he says simply.

She sighs, shaking her head.

She was guessing that him being depressed and feeling symbolic were more to blame, but she didn't contest that he had been drunk.

House drops his head back onto the book with a groan.

Cuddy balances a heavy encyclopedia on top of the gauze she has balled up in the depression in his thigh, going to get supplies to clean and stitch the wound.

House barely seems to notice as she inserts her just-washed finger into the wound, probing to tell how deep it goes. She feels it going into tendon, and... is that a deep score on the bone? House did this to himself?

She sighs, shaking her head, and starts flushing it out with distilled water from his medicine kit.

She wipes away the fresh blood, then carefully sutures the two sides of the wound together. It isn't perfect, and he probably needs to be checked out by an orthopedist to deal with the cut in his already weakened tendon, but it keeps him from bleeding more, which is probably important, given the amount of blood on shirt she found when she turned the couch right side up to give herself more room to work on his leg.

He grunts painfully as she pulls him to his feet, sways heavily as she half drags him towards the door, and nearly falls on the steps.

She sets him in the passenger seat of her car, then goes back to lock the door.

She waves the key in front of his eyes, trying to get his attention.

He swats clumsily at it, and ends up nearly hitting himself in the face.

"I'm keeping this. You'll have to get a new spare. I'm not leaving you anywhere in this state without being able to get at you." she says, then puts it in her pocket.

He just grunts.

The drive to the hospital is a silent one, House too drunk and light-headed to say anything, Cuddy too upset.

Cameron seems a little surprised to see them there, but not at all surprised the he is drunk to the point of total inebriation. He can't stay sitting upright by himself.

She is very surprised when she checks out the wound on his leg, but she handles seeing both the scar and the cut very well.

She tells Cuddy that the cut in his tendon isn't that serious, because it goes with the fibers, and it won't weaken them significantly.

She carefully sews House's leg back together, as an IV carries blood back into his veins.

He seems a bit more coherent after the transfusion, but still doesn't seem to be able to respond to anything anyone is saying.

Then again, maybe he just doesn't want to.

They decide to admit him, and two nurses help transfer him onto a gurney.

They push him to a room and transfer him onto a bed.

Cuddy nods to Cameron that she can go, and gets a chair from the hallway.

House curls into a painful ball on the bed, and Cuddy drapes a blanket overtop of him.

He grunts at the sensation, but doesn't say anything.

Cuddy smiles a little, and tucks the blanket around him, remembering what he had said that night only a few days ago, when she had been watching him to make sure he didn't go back to work.

He seems to fall asleep, and she lets him, though his BAC is .21, and she has no idea how much vicodin his has taken.

She gently kisses him on the forehead, then sits down in the chair to wait. Her assistant can handle things for a while.

She looks up, as someone stops by the door.

It's Wilson.

He looks confused.

Cuddy gets up, opening the door and stepping outside the room to talk to him.

"What happened?" asks Wilson, still looking over her shoulder at House, "he looks drunk."

Cuddy looks steadily at him.

"He is. He also cut himself down to the bone. He's a mess."

Wilson looks at her, startled.

"Where?"

"On his scar."

Wilson swallows.

House shifts a little on the bed, then cries out weakly, as his bad leg starts doing something very painful.

Cuddy opens the door, hurries to put her hand on House's shoulder, leaning over him.

"House? What is it? What hurts?"

He doesn't answer, just keeps whimpering, obviously in serious pain.

Cuddy pulls back the blankets and puts her hand on his scar.

She feels the muscles cramping and spasming, pulling on the stitches and cut—not to mention the pain they're causing just by themselves.

Cuddy grabs a local muscle relaxant out of a drawer, injects it into the painful area, and waits.

It takes a long time, but House slowly calms, though he keeps trembling, an after-effect of severe pain.

Cuddy looks at Wilson.

His face is white.

Cuddy gently pulls the covers back over House, going back to talk with Wilson.

"I really don't care how mad you are. I think he's suffered enough."

Wilson swallows, eyes fixed on the trembling blankets.

House's hand suddenly shoots out, and he grabs an emesis basin, heaving into it miserably.

Wilson looks at Cuddy.

"I don't know how to forgive him."

Cuddy looks at Wilson.

"You shouldn't have to. He never did anything wrong. He called you for a ride—perfectly normal. You were on call, also normal, and my fault. He asked amber to not come, he wanted you to come instead. She came anyway—her fault. He tried to leave without her. He tried to get on the bus without her. He tried to save her while concused and half conscious. He risked his life literally five different ways trying to save her. You asked him to do something that might have killed him, and he did it. And it caused him permanent sensory brain damage. And he doesn't care. He doesn't care that he can't read books anymore. He doesn't care that he gets dizzy enough that he can't walk sometimes. All he cares about is the fact that you aren't speaking to him. And that is what's doing this to him. There's nothing to forgive him for, because he never did anything wrong. It's my fault you were on call, it's the bartender's fault for taking House's keys, it's amber's fault she went on the bus with him, it's the medical company's fault for making a drug that can't be filtered by dialysis, it's the dump truck driver's fault for running into the bus, it's the bus driver's fault for not avoiding the dump truck, and it's the world's fault for not having enough donor organs to go around. Nowhere in there is it House's fault. So go yell at the people who make seatbelts for saving all those organ donors, but don't do this to House for nothing but the fact that he got drunk because he was lonely because you were on call because that's where I put you on the schedule."

Wilson swallows.

She seems really angry.

He looks past her at House, who has put down the basin, but is still shaking, still trembling, still barely conscious.

He bites his lip, looking at Cuddy.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Anything. Why'd you cut yourself. Sorry. Hi. I love you. Anything. Something. Go in there, and say something."

Wilson pushes the door open, walks in, puts his hand on House's shoulder.

"'m fine..." mumbles House, then leans over the basin again, "just the pain. And alcohol."

Wilson closes his eyes. He can feel how warm House is under the blankets, he's still in pain. A lot of it.

"I'm so sorry, House." he says finally, tears running down his cheeks.

House jerks, nearly spilling the basin, as he rolls over, looking wide-eyed at Wilson.

He starts gasping, and his hand goes to his leg, but his eyes are full of relief and happiness.

Wilson looks at him, seeing just what he has done to his best friend. Seeing that House has forgiven him unquestioningly. Seeing that House doesn't care what Wilson has done to him, as long as he's back.

"I'm so sorry." he repeats, placing his hand on the side of House's scruffy face.

"It's ok." says House, slurring only slightly, "you're back."


End file.
